


The Light That Keeps Us Blind

by grumpyphoenix



Series: Various Bangs [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, CyberpunkAU, Deancasreversebang2019, Hints of Rowena/Sam flirting, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 13:58:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19200268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpyphoenix/pseuds/grumpyphoenix
Summary: Are you afraid to leave your home at night? Remember where you were when the Monster Uprising began? Well, have no fear, citizens, we here atH34V3N Corp, formerly Winchester-Roman Incorporated, have got your back! Here atH34V3N, we strive to continue what our brave founders started by creating synergistic teams to stand between you and the things that creep in the dark. Each qualified and fully licensed Hunter is paired with a robotic Artificial Intelligence, or ‘Angels’ as we like to call them, whose purpose is to ensure that you, the citizens on the street, stay safe from harm. We ask that when you see them working you move aside to a safe distance so they may remove the monster quickly and with a minimum of fuss! We atH34V3Nlive to serve the public peace with a smile.Heavenly!!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Lotrspnfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotrspnfangirl/profile) who beta'd this and helped me untangle the ending. 
> 
> I was privileged to be able to pick [Galaxystiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxystiel/profile)'s art to write a fic around. She was very patient with the constant re-writing and real life interruptions, and very enthusiastic about the finished product, which is so amazing and encouraging.
> 
>  

 

> _“Turn out the light that keeps us blind_
> 
> _Holding believers under your thumb_
> 
> _Pulling the veil over their eyes_
> 
> _Speaking in fables with your electric halo”_
> 
> _-_ KYNG _, Electric Halo_
> 
>  
> 
> _-Welcome to H34V3N Corp, formerly Winchester-Roman Incorporated. Here at H34V3N, we strive to continue what our brave founders started by creating synergistic teams to stand between you and the things that creep in the dark. Each qualified and fully licensed Hunter is paired with a robotic Artificial Intelligence, or ‘Angels’ as we like to call them, whose purpose is to ensure that you, the citizens on the street, stay safe from harm. We ask that when you see them working you move aside to a safe distance so they may remove the monster quickly and with a minimum of fuss! We at H34V3N live to serve the public peace with a smile. Heavenly!!-_
> 
> “Goddamit, Cas! Get that stupid asshole out of the way!”
> 
> Covered head to toe in gore, Dean is trying to keep track of the werewolf, but it’s hard when _actual fucking tourists_ try to get in the way to take pictures. Wiping blood out of his eye and flicking the congealed clot onto the ground with a splat, he tries to get a bead on it, but it keeps dodging around the cars. Kevin’s turned all the lights red so he’s not dealing with traffic, but all the same, terrified people will do a lot of weird things. Like try to take a selfie with a werewolf. Castiel reaches the moron with the camera and simply picks the grown man up as if he weighed less than a toddler, running off with him over one shoulder, ignoring the shouts of protest.
> 
> < _Sam says there’s two more coming around the corner to the left > _ Kevin’s voice pipes in through his implanted comm.
> 
> < _Is he planning on shooting any of them some time today? > _
> 
> < _Hsst. Touchy, touchy. H34V3N wants as many as possible alive so medical can try their new ‘cure’. He’s on the roof with some new tranq rounds they whipped up. > _
> 
> _ <Listen, I’m going to kill the one here who just ripped this lady in half. Sam can play game hunter all he wants with the other two. But tell him to be careful, putting them to sleep never works for long.> _
> 
> _ <Yeah yeah, I got an earful from him about it, too. Incidentally, there are at least a dozen drones recording this. So, maybe, don’t let any more civilians get eaten today?> _
> 
> He looks up. Sure enough, at the top of the building, at least a dozen tiny round flying bots plastered with logos film every second eagerly. Dean flips them off, which gets an outraged squawk from Kevin in his ear. With a smirk, he circles to where the last were was-
> 
> Crap, it’s gone.
> 
> Dean crouches and plants his back against a Chrysler, trying to look everywhere at once. He ducks down to look under the cars, but almost all of them are new. They hover. Stopped like this though, they’ve settled to the ground to save battery. If the world hadn’t gone mad when Roman Enterprises started pumping out tech like he was in an Iron Man comic, the damn cars would have wheels. He settles back against the car and waits, listening, trying to sort through everything he hears. It _has_ to be some place close.
> 
> There’s a beat of blessed silence before the kid in the car facing him points, face drained of color. A blood-stained drop of drool lands on his shoulder, tracking its way down his chest. Dean slowly looks up into the gaping maw of the maddened lupine. Dean jams his gun right into its piehole and pulls the trigger.
> 
> He really should’ve turned his head away when he did that.
> 
> Dean squishes his way to the sidewalk. He’s vaguely aware of a man watching him intently as he staggers off the road, a man who leaves hastily when Castiel strides back, tan coat billowing. Something about the guy bothers him, but the amused look on the Angel’s face drives it out of his mind.
> 
> Traffic starts again, eerily silent and fast. He’ll never get used to electric cars. The bots are suddenly everywhere around him, blaring questions, some of them calling him by name. They talk rapid fire, overlapping each other. The noise is incredible.
> 
> - _Dean Winchester: Who was the civilian the monster ate?! Why didn’t you protect her! - -Dean Win- -Dean- -Dean Winchester! In the wake of your grandfather dying and father disappearing, how do you address the rumors- -He had some announcement to make about H34V3N: What was it?- -Dean Winchester, the rumors- -The rumors- -Your father- -tell us where- -your legacy of violence-_
> 
> The questions all start to pile on top of each other and he can’t escape the press of the tiny flying robots surrounding him. He scowls and hunches, trying to shield his face.
> 
> A loud, high pitched whine emits from behind him, causing the bots to glitch and lose flight capacity for seconds. It makes them scatter and fly off. Cas comes around to his side, one arm extended, waiting until the coast is clear to stop. Dean feels self conscious and grumpy.
> 
> “It’s not funny,” he tells Cas.
> 
> Castiel looks back at him mildly. “I have no concept of humor, Dean, but if I did, I would be a poor friend to laugh at your harassment and the feelings of loss it must evoke. I need to attend to Sam. The newest attempt by H34V3N’s labs to capture a werewolf seem to have worked, but should they awaken unexpectedly, he’ll need assistance.”
> 
> “Do you need me there?”
> 
> “No, we have multiple rounds of the same formula, should the need arise.”
> 
> Dean nods. “Meet me back home, later tonight. We need to, uh, talk about strategy.”
> 
> Castiel gives him an unimpressed look that belies the pleasant way he says, “Of course, Dean. I would be happy to assist you both in coming up with better strategies for the future.”
> 
> Dean grumbles, walking towards the run down building they call home. The further away he gets from the site, the more people move, wide eyed, out of his way. He should start carrying a spare coat or shirt or something. His scowl, on top of looking like a serial killer after a bender, have some of them visibly on their phones to the police. Luckily, he gets home before he’s forced to show his license to an overeager cop who might take him in anyway. The post-battle adrenaline loss makes him so bone-tired that he stumbles through a shower before collapsing on his bed to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel is in his dreams again. Dean is fishing at that lake, the same one in every dream. Sunset shimmers over the water and there’s a distant bird sound. His father would probably know what it was... a Loon, maybe. The AI is standing close behind him, peering out over the water. Waiting.

“A strategy meeting? I’m happy to come when you call, but now I have to make up a log about a strategy meeting.”

Dean grins to himself, looking at the way the sunset picks out the brown in his hair, caresses his cheek like a gentle hand.

“Why do you make this lake every time? I mean, I’m not complaining, it’s peaceful.”

Castiel looks out over the water. “This is your dream, I have no control over what happens here. I merely wait for you to wake before manifesting in it.” 

Unsettled, Dean looks up at him. “You wait? Look, can you sit? No offense, but craning my neck to look up at you is weird.”

Castiel complies, sitting cross-legged next to him, looking out at the lake. “We’ve had this conversation before. The chip Kevin invented, combined with the… ah…”

“Spell,” Dean supplies, hiding a smile.

“Must you?”

“You have no issue with actual werewolves, but a spell is out of the question?”

“I’ve been programmed to believe in werewolves,” he says primly. “Magic seems the province of children’s cinema.”

“Stop it with that stuff. You’re more than your programming.”

Castiel toys with a button on his trenchcoat. Dean watches, fascinated. It’s honest-to-God fidgeting and he’d never see Castiel do it in person. Just here, where no one is watching.

“I am for now,” he says quietly. “But if they catch us….”

It’s left hanging between them. Angels who have grown past their programming are considered by H34V3N to be the dangerous and unpredictable. Dean can see their point - humans themselves are dangerous and unpredictable. But H34V3N has sold the concept of ‘Evil AIs’ to the public, and more importantly, to the government. The policy is to kill them, or to bring them back for study, but Dean’s never heard of the later happening. H34V3N, true to form, calls them Fallen. Fallen Angels. They’d become a bit of a guerrilla movement, joining groups of monsters and manipulating them into protective guards. It’s a mess.

Dean clears his throat. “It was Henry’s  _ magic  _ that helped the Angel AI to work, and it’s the same magic that lets you into my head. The NET is filled with it. You said we’ve had this conversation before?”

“We have. It is my estimation that you retain a mere eighty percent of what happens here. It is remarkable for a human, but distressing all the same. Again, the chip and the… ‘special subroutine’ supplied by your father working from your grandfather’s notebook, allow me to monitor your consciousness. I know when you are sleeping, so I access your slumbering mind and wait until the dream forms itself. Some of what you retain is the real conversation, and some is dream.” Castiel sighs, frustrated, another quirk Dean only sees here. “This is an inefficient way to communicate.”

“Yeah, okay, Santa.”

“I don’t understa- oh. I see. ‘I know when you’re sleeping’. You should give up hunting and take to the stage.”

Dean whaps Castiel’s arm, lightly. “A joke! He makes a joke. I am such a good influence on you.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, but he has an actual smile. Dean drinks it in, every last stolen drop of the moment.

"I wonder why the dream is always this lake,” he breaks the silence and forces himself to look away at the water turning the color of liquid gold as the dream sun continues to go down.

“I have had the same question. Sam said-”

“Wait, you talked to Sam about my lake dream?”

“I did. It seems to be a very specific dream.” Castiel squints. “Was I wrong to do so?”

Dean weighs that. On one hand, Sam helped to set this whole thing up, and asking him how it works seems reasonable. On the other, it just feels so… He balks at the word ‘ _ intimate’ _ , but… that’s the word. He just shrugs, which makes Castiel’s squint deepen to a scowl.

“I don’t know what’s so ‘specific’ about it, though. It’s just a lake. Kind of bland, almost like the kind of painting you’d see on a motel wall or a laxative commercial.” Dean shrugs. “Wait, what did Sam say?”

“That it might be a memory. For instance, this dock is detailed down to the lingering warmth of what was clearly a very hot day. The condensation on the bottles of beer and coke in the cooler and the way the sunlight hits the water are all very detailed, but your shadow is too small and there are fishing poles for a lake without fish.” 

“I think I get it...you’re saying that my mind is filling in things it remembers about a day.”

“Indeed, probably as a youth.”

“Except I don’t recall this day, not even a little. I don’t have any memories of a day at any pond as a kid. Our dad was more about teaching us to shoot and timing us as we cleaned a rifle. We never went on trips like this.” Dean shifts and looks at his hands.

Abruptly uncomfortable, he changes the subject. “Last time we were here, you said you were closer to understanding what’s going on inside H34V3N, or where Dad might be.”

“I did, yes. But I’m a warrior, Dean, I don’t know how to break into classified files. The most I can do is what you would call ‘snooping’. However, I am beginning to suspect that Naomi is interested in more than simply having hunters take care of the Fallen they see. I… I saw Balthazar.”

Dean sits up straighter, eyeing him. “We both saw the enormous bullet hole in his head, Cas.”

He shrugs. “And yet I saw him in the hall. He didn’t know me. He walked through to a classified section and I was strongly discouraged from asking questions.”

“Sounds like you need help from Sam, or maybe even some of his friends. I’ll have a talk with him when I wake up.”

Cas looks worried, but holds his tongue, staring out at the water.

Dean reaches into his pocket for the small flat rock he just knows is there and withdraws it, skipping it along the placid water. When he looks back, he finds Castiel watching him.

“You know, I remember something else at the end of the last time we did this… I could have sworn that you kissed me.”

A pleased smile sneaks onto Castiel’s face. Dean reaches for him, but the dream fades as Castiel whispers, “That part was dream.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Consciousness returns in pieces, leaving him lying on the awful mattress in the darkened bedroom he and Sam share. His undershirt is twisted around him, half strangling him. He fights with it a bit until he rips it off and throws it on the floor, stumbling to the bathroom to splash water on his face. Leaning over the sink, he tries to shake the nausea that comes every time Castiel’s been in his head. 

Whatever it was that Dad and Kevin did to him has been just about the only tech his body hasn’t violently rejected, the comm being the only other blessed exception. Catching sight of the twisted scars criss-crossing his body, he’s reminded that includes nanite surgery as well. God help him if he ever needs something major repaired. Even the time he’d had a huge block of machinery dropped on him, he had  to spend time healing the old fashioned way with a cast. Sam hasn’t stopped laughing at him yet.

Pink neon flashes off and on through the window shades behind him, coming from the club across the street. He closes his eyes, feels the ceramic, the cool tile around the sink. Maybe Sam is here, they can talk about him helping Cas. He closes his eyes, imagining the dream.

The lake, always with the strange lake. The golden light of sunset makes his blue eyes glow a little. He always stands so close…he shakes it off. Dreaming about that isn’t fair. The man is fighting for his freedom. Dean should stop thinking about it.

Slouching out of the bedroom, he sees Sam at the window in their living room, lights off. This window is the only thing redeeming the place; one entire wall is one way glass, reflecting the bright neon lights of the city around them. It is beautiful.

Stripped to the waist as usual, Sam stands with one hand flat against the glass. In the darkness, the city lights play across his face, giving him an otherworldly look. Unlike his brother, Sam has no problem with tech, and all of it is blatantly on display, circuitry and magic at work under his skin. Dean thinks that’s most of the reason he goes around shirtless to begin with.

He tilts his head, aware of Dean even though his eyes are unfocused and unseeing. He’s still in the NET, but his expensive and finely tuned implants allows him a subconscious awareness of his surroundings. If he attacked Sam right now, Sam would be able to dodge and disconnect quickly.

Sam is busy, so Dean is going to drink. He heads to the kitchenette and Sam’s face turns back to the window. The fluorescent lights under the cabinets in the kitchenette flicker to life weakly, casting a sickly glow over the sticky counter. Sam moves a little in reaction, but then stabilizes when nothing comes at him. The inside of the fridge shows only one lonely, expired yogurt on the top shelf. Dammit, no beer. An eye on his brother tells him that Sam’s gonna be out for a while, so he might as well make a supply run. He throws the yogurt in the Destruct-O! (™), watching it poof into ash. Well, damn, now he’s hungry, too.

An eyeball on the time tells him that the amount of money he’d have to bribe a delivery-boy with to come to their sketchy building would not be worth the laziness, so he shrugs on his long coat, his gun a reassuring presence in the underarm holster beneath. Just in case. These days, monsters are a lot more savvy, keeping as low a profile as they can, but he feels incomplete without it. Approaching his brother again, Dean taps on the window a few times rhythmically. Sam’s head tilts.

Before Henry Winchester and Dick Roman banded together, their father had been a hard taskmaster, teaching them how to hunt monsters the old fashioned way. Since the monster ‘uprising’, everything had gone sideways, but one of the things their dad taught them that stuck was Morse Code. And, as much as his brother scoffs at old and dusty, having secret ways to communicate is one of those things that appeals to his brainiac side. Sam responds, his fingers tapping gently where they rest on the glass, asking for Lo Mein. Done. There’s a place right next to the liquor store and Dean could stand to eat several egg rolls.

Dean tucks his phone receiver into the implant in his ear with a click and a grimace, heading out of the apartment towards the stairs. He hears the broken-ass elevator before he passes it, the fuzzy warped sound of the deranged computer in it floating towards him as he goes.

_ -bzzt going down- -bzzt third floor- -bzzt ladies lingerie - _

The door opens and shuts spasmodically, the light within the elevator’s shell a dull hellscape-red from the emergency lights that somehow have never burnt out. A young homeless net-rigger had settled in it ages ago, slowly transforming the tiny space. Now, thick wires run over the inside like well organized tentacles, monitors mounted on all three walls. She reclines in a beanbag chair, criminally thin, her arms filled with illicitly modified ports with thin wires like veins snaking out of them. No one will ever chase her out or fix the elevator, and he’s kind of happy she’s found a place. Like most net-riggers, she does something complicated and illegal, but it could be anything, really; he can’t understand half of what she says on any given day. Dean jerks his chin in greeting and she does the same, red hair falling in her thin face, her eyes glowing in the gloom. Watching as he goes down the stairs.

Hunching against the drizzle, he jams his hands in his pockets. Stupid club kids crowd here every damn Friday, chasing a fix of every kind in the club across the way. A huge, neon pink and glowing animated mouth moves across the face of the building. Sometimes it lip syncs the words to the obnoxious song blaring outside, sometimes it laughs silently, licking its lips. Occasionally it opens up around the door when the bouncer lets people in, so they appear to walk right into a gullet, into the pulsing darkness, devoured one at a time. He wonders how many of these tragically cool kids are real people and how many are predators.

Even after the bloody and apocalyptic monster uprising, no one is really ready for them. After the Hunters and H34V3N took care of most of the problem, it was life as usual. Except now hunters had salaries. Licenses. A union, though he can’t be arsed to participate in that, even though Uncle Bobby gives him a ration of crap for it often enough. Monsters were a damn  _ tourist  _ attraction.

Across the street and down a half block is the closest liquor store, open twenty four hours, and always doing a brisk business. He pauses once inside the door to run his hands over his face and hair to get the rain off, winking at Janice, the geriatric who works behind the counter on the night shift. Dean’s always suspected that she owns the place, actually.

She beams, snaggle-toothed, wearing glitter lipstick as usual. Tonight it’s gold, coordinated with her eyeshadow and the tragically tight tracksuit. Her cigarette is untouched, the ash long and too stubborn to fall off. Janice’s outdated eye implants are on the fritz, glitching and fuzzing with white static. It reminds him of tv screens from his childhood, making him think of ghosts. Dean shudders, heading into the back to get cold six packs from the fridge, passing through other late night customers. People in a liquor store so late are usually unwilling to engage, and sure enough, no one looks at each other, eyes on their own business.

While he’s figuring out whether they can afford the expensive beer, the bell above the door rings with more customers. By the sound of it, they’re already lit, loud and rude.

Looking up at the security mirror, he can see their warped reflections as they head through the store. Two girls, a scrawny hyena of a man, and a musclehead. They don’t really merit a second look, but the man leading them…

He’s tall and beautiful, long hair falling in a perfect wave. He’s dressed like every vampire movie cliché and Dean is sure it’s on purpose. He’s still where the rest of them are twitchy; frenetic almost, set to cause chaos and fear. He’s looking for something and the economy of motion used to do it sets off more warning bells. Then he lifts his eyes, sees Dean in the mirror, and smiles. Dean cocks his head, activating the comm unit.

< _ Dean _ > It’s Kevin’s voice, clipped and alert, though he’s pretty sure Kevin was asleep half a second ago.

“Funkytown.”

There’s some typing and a half second of earaching static before the connection slips from voice to mental. He’d hated it the first time, but he has to admit being able to talk to Kevin and Sam without his voice has advantages.

<I _ ’m at the liquor store up the street, ‘The Good Stuff’. Five blood suckers, and it looks suspicious.> _

_ <How so?> _

_ <I can’t really pin it down. They’re just really obviously vampires. Movie-obvious. They’re looking for attention. The guy in charge came here looking for me.> _

_ <Okay. Sam is stuck in the NET, but I can have Castiel there in a few minutes.> _

_ <Tell him to get the lead out, will you?> _

_ <I’m not sure what that mea--> _

_ < _ **_Kevin_ ** _. Hurry.> _

_ <Right, sorry, he’s on the way.> _

Nonchalantly walking along the opposite edge of the store, he keeps an eye on them through the mirror. The girls are grabbing bottles and wrenching them open, drinking a few swallows and then throwing them on the ground, laughing when they shatter. Other customers go running out the front, leaving the place almost empty. Dean searches out the leader again and their eyes lock. He’s quiet, watching Dean, standing stock still as people run around him, chased by the women and the chortling fool. The fool’s movements draw Dean’s eyes away because he’s headed to the front.

Laughing his high pitched laugh, he stalks towards Janice, making exaggeratedly lewd gestures. She grabs at the store phone and the musclehead slaps it out of her hand with a menacing growl. A darting motion in Dean’s peripheral vision makes him glance over, and dammit, the leader is out of sight. Janice screams in terror, cut off mid scream, replaced with the wet sound of a throat being torn open, blood spattering, and the unmistakable sound of slurping.  _ Guzzling, _ Dean realizes grimly, of someone forced to drink way too fast.

Dean runs, reaching for his gun and setting it to special rounds. It doesn’t have the same cleanness that a machete does, but he doesn’t have that luxury right now. He can deal with being covered in Vampire brains and blood if he’s careful.

As Dean reaches the front, the lights flicker and then go out. Lit only by the dramatic neon of the street outside, he can see the big guy pressing the old woman against the counter, blood running over his chin in sticky rivulets, a mad look on his face as he devours her. Her eyes are glazed already, a frozen look of horrific ecstasy on her face as she pushes against him weakly. Janice is all but a corpse, but Dean presses the gun to the back of his skull anyway and pulls the trigger. Blood and brain splatter over her, the counter, the wall. She lets out a long sigh and goes still, her eyes staring, still flickering television static. They will for a while yet, he knows, leaching what little energy is left in her like a dying battery. Ghosts. The hair on the back of his neck raises, making him turn, and it’s the ladies sneaking up as a pair, their eyes intent.

“Dean Winchester,” the one on the left, purple hair, whispers in delight.

“Alone,” the one on the right, green hair, laughs.

“Tasty,” they agree together, licking their lips.

“Any other day,” Dean drops and slides under them as they lunge, coming up behind them, “I would love to oblige you both.”

He fires and purple-hair goes down, head obliterated. “And of course, if you weren’t undead.”

Green-hair lunges for him and he fires again, dead on. He’s so close that he takes the full brunt of the splatter all over him. He can never get used to how cold vampire blood is, like dry ice, burning where it lands. The sheer amount of it on his exposed skin is doing its work, and he’s instantly high as a kite. Euphoric, he laughs as he wipes the gore off his face, heart pounding. He runs his fingers over his face, his neck. He’d get so much more of it on him if he just took off his coat. Fumbling with the sleeves causes him to slam one of his hands against the counter and the pain brings him back to the edge of reality.

_ <Dean> _ Kevin’s voice cuts through the haze.

_ <Hey kiddo. Only two left.> _ In this state, his voice in the link sounds like rock music, heavy guitars and drums.

_ <What the hell? Did you get blood on you? Dean, get out of there, wait for backup. You’re in no state --> _

_ <Shhh, buck up little camper, I got this> _ The link fills with laughter and the heady smell of gasoline on a hot highway. Nostalgia.

Dean shakes his head to try to clear it. He can do this. Two more left: laughing guy and the leader. Forcing down the laugh bubbling up to the surface, Dean crouches and duck-walks down an aisle, listening. Common sense says they’d have left, but that is  _ boring _ , and despite his stupid outfit, Handsome Leader Vampire is not boring. He’s something else.

Dean creeps through the wine aisle, ignoring how the labels animate and move. No, Handsome is a thinker. Everything about this from the cliché liquor store ambush to their outfits says calculating, but why? He waits, listening, forgetting the line of thinking for pure instinct and the electric thrill running over his skin. No one else would have heard the vampire behind him, but he, Dean, is completely  _ awesome _ . He whirls just in time to catch Handsome under the chin with the gun.

“Gotcha.” Dean grins. Handsome smiles back. It’s serene, untroubled.

Then laughing boy grabs Dean from behind, scooping his arms under his armpits and holding him fast, hands interlaced behind Dean’s neck. Dean’s gun falls to the floor as fingers go unexpectedly nerveless.

Handsome’s smile gets wider and his eyes light up from within, electric blue. He reaches out a hand and places it on Dean’s forehead. He tries to shrink away, but the lackey’s grip is like iron and there’s nowhere to go. Warmth spreads from Handsome’s palm and radiates outwards.

_ < _ **_Poughkeepsie_ ** _ \- Kevin, Kevin, shut it down, shut it…> _ Dean’s panic tastes like sour beer, and the smell pools and puddles.

< _ Help is coming, Castiel is coming, Dean, hold on, hold on!> _

His head breaks open like an egg, the warmth of his memories spread down his body, emotional rivulets that he tries to catch and keep in. This man can’t have him. Castiel is coming, he’s going to save him, and the sunrise will be in his hair and maybe this time he’ll kiss him for real, and … Dean thrashes, kicking.

“I know what you are-” Dean twists and Handsome grabs his head with both hands.

“Do you. Then this should be easy, Dean Winchester. I just want to help you. Let go. Let me in.” His eyes glow.

< _ Kevin he’s a Fallen-don’t send Cas-tell him to run-shut down the link-run-tell Sam- tellsamtellsamhe’sdoingsome> _

The link turns to static and shorts out. Around them, everything electronic starts to scramble all at once. Dean’s sight narrows and all he can see is the face of the Fallen, tracing his fingers over Dean’s cheek, his expression loving, placid, menacing. Dean’s body starts to jerk, every nerve lit up in unbelievable, ceaseless pain. 

“Stop fighting it,” the Fallen’s voice is soft, gentle, “It will stop hurting if you stop fighting it.”

He can feel it  _ sorting through his mind,  _ rifling through it like a filing cabinet _.  _ The light bulbs above them shatter and spark. Behind his tormentor, he can see another man in a long coat walking calmly through it, his bright blue eyes steady on Dean’s, unblinking. He’s carrying a wicked looking silver  knife.

Castiel has come and he looks pissed. His eyes are the last thing Dean sees before the world turns off.


	4. Chapter 4

_ He’s on the dock, next to the lake, but the sky is night, heavy and oppressive with stars. The lake reflects them with a mirrored sheen. It looks dark and deadly, quiet and unmoving. When the hand grasps up at him and grabs his ankle, Dean is unprepared for the quick and cold slide into the black. _

“Take it easy.”

The low, husky rumble comes from the corner near the bed where the unmistakable figure of Castiel sits in the dark.

Dean takes stock of his body. It aches and he feels… crusty. “So I didn’t dream all of that.” His throat hurts, as if he’s been screaming.

Cas gestures and the lights obey him instead of doing their usual seizure inducing craziness. They raise to half level. He looks at Dean steadily. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

He tries to stand, the room spinning again as he does. “Sam must have been pissed at me.”

Castiel tilts his head quizzically. It’s an endearing gesture, here in private. In public, it would be the end of them both. Dean gestures up and down his body. He’s still wearing the clothing he’d been in for his trip to the store. It’s so soaked with blood that it’s stiff, like cardboard. He suspects his hair is the same.

“He let the blood run its course instead of cleaning it off.”

“Ah, yes. You were screaming and raving, but he seemed unconcerned, directing me to place you here. Something about ‘getting what you deserved’. I offered to bathe you, which seemed to amuse him, but he told me to leave you alone to sleep it off. I kept watch while you slept. Sam did leave you some food, however, once you are sufficiently clean.”

Slowly, he tries to get up again, waving off Castiel’s attempt to help. “The Fallen packed quite a punch. What the hell was he trying to do with my head?”

Castiel blinks at him, once, long and slow.

“Ohhhkay. I guess I’ll take a shower, then.”

“You should do that, and then come out to talk to Sam.” Castiel heads past Dean, pausing only once to press his hand against Dean’s shoulder and squeeze.

Dean watches him go, suddenly very worried.

* * *

He sits down on the couch hard enough to jar his teeth. “They’re doing _ what? _ ”

Sam hands him his tablet, the email right up front. There it is, laid out. Their Angel, Unit 317-20-95-12.777: “Castiel”, is being recalled for maintenance. Sam has replied already, asking when they would be getting it back, and received the reply that Unit 21-18-95-12.777: “Uriel”, would be their new permanent replacement.

A headache starts, right behind his eyes, a constant painful pressure. “He… he can’t go in. Cas, you can’t go in! They… they’ll…”

“They’ll pick my code apart, line by line, yes. Looking for the error that allowed me free will. Then they’ll delete what’s left and burn my body. Or perhaps they will rebuild me, as they did Balthazar.”

Castiel is impassive, the way he is in public, his expression neutral and calm. Dean feels like the ground is going to swallow him, especially when he looks up at Sam and sees Castiel’s look echoed there. “Wait, you’re not going?!”

Sam sighs. “He has to, Dean. If he doesn’t, they’ll come after us, like they did with Dad.”

“How did they even know?”

Castiel comes and sits next to him. Gently, he says, “Kevin.”

Sam fiddles with the tablet so it shows some pictures of a trashed apartment. “After you were attacked, I tried to talk to Kevin on the comm but he wouldn’t answer. So Cas and I went to see him. He’s gone.”

“He has been, at least for a few weeks, by the state of things there.”

His head hurts, really badly. He thinks of Kevin, young, naive, recruited away from his life to be part of their team. His mother just wanted him to play the cello, but Kevin wanted to make a difference. He was so smart, so trusting. And Dad… Dad was so charming, sweeping Mrs. Tran out of the way with a smile.

“So who did I talk to? Who sent Cas to me?”

“An AI, most likely,” Castiel says. “Since it knew code words, the chances that H34V3N have Kevin, or… or  _ had _ him are strong. We’ve been talking to an AI for a while now, so they know, well, everything we told Kevin.”

“What does that have to do with the Fallen rooting around in my head?”

Sam pushes a greasy container of Lo Mein at him, but the smell of it nearly makes him hurl. Dean pushes it back towards his brother who levels a pissed look that would’ve flattened anyone who didn’t know him when he was in Middle School. As it is, Dean just gives him the finger.

“Fine, just faint then,” Sam scoffs and takes it back, shoving a fork into the center, glaring. “I don’t think it  _ was _ a Fallen. It looked like one - hiding in a group of monsters and manipulating them is what they do - but I think it was an Angel.”

Dean’s head is pounding harder now, and he only really grasps what his brother is saying in bits and pieces. It’s too much. He kicks the table, sending food flying, startling Sam enough to make him back away.

“What. Was. He. Doing. In. My.  _ Head _ !” he shouts; his throat objects, but right now, Dean could really not care less. He grabs his head, hunkering down against the pain lancing through it.

Castiel crouches in front of him, cradling the side of Dean’s face in his large hands. Warmth spreads from his touch, easing some of the pain, chasing the confusion away. Gasping, grateful tears in his eyes, Dean grabs onto Castiel’s wrists for dear life.

“I’m not sure,” Sam admits, his voice pitched softly. “But I think whatever he did had a definite impact on the chip Dad and Kevin put into your head.” He stops and Dean can  _ feel _ Sam and Cas exchanging a glance over his head. “Maybe you should sleep.”

Dean closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Cas’. “No. No more sleeping. Since Dad disappeared, we’ve been playing the long game, avoiding suspicion, trying to play Nancy Drew. That isn’t working now, is it? We need to figure out what’s going on.”

Without moving, Castiel says, “Why did they kidnap him, anyway?”

“To get information on your relationship with Dean, I suppose, but that seems…” Sam trails off, lips pursed.

“Exactly. They could have waylaid me at any point and extracted that information. After your father’s disappearance, you were both a thorn in her side, but she was able to move forward. After a while you seemed to stop and have been playing ‘nice’. She has no reason to do this.”

“Something changed,” Dean says quietly. “If she has Dad, he’s probably given her something. Kidnapping and replacing Kevin him gives her intelligence, so…”

“It has to do with the chip in your head then. Maybe Dad hid something on it?”

Dean snorts. “I think he forgot to mention my problem with Tech. The Angel rooting through my brain seemed frustrated.” 

Sam snaps his fingers. “That  _ is _ the problem, actually. It’s mostly magic combined with tech. My guess is that Dad didn’t tell her that... or she doesn’t understand what magic is. Maybe she doesn’t believe in it.” Sam clicks his tongue, thinking, then sits up straighter. “I think I know how we can get to whatever is on there, but we’re going to need help. I know the right two ladies, but there’s going to be a price.”

Dean flaps his hand in Sam’s direction and he nods. Dean expects him to slip back into the NET, but he just goes out the door, shirtless and barefoot.

Once he’s gone, Castiel pulls back a little so he can look in Dean’s face. The screaming pain in his head has subsided enough to think. He doesn’t do much of that, though, because Cas is suddenly kissing him. It’s gentle and brief, but wonderful, a brush of the lips. It lingers even after he’s stopped, tingling, delightful and sweet. They both start talking at once.

“I love-”

“-you but I thought if I told you-”

“-you wouldn’t feel the same way, and anyhow, it felt like it -

“-it would be selfish to impose on you-”

“You know, you’re both cute and all, and whatever is going on here is very sweet, but you should lock the door, you’re just asking for trouble.”

His first instinct is to reach for his gun and shoot whoever it is, but of course, he’s unarmed. One of Cas’ hands slips around his own and he whispers into Dean’s ear, “Shhh, later.”

Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Fine. He can wait till later. He turns to see who the hell it is.

The redhead from the elevator stands in the doorway, red and yellow striped pajama bottoms hang off her skinny frame. She has a t-shirt that reads “Save a Tree - Eat a Beaver”. It’s seen better days. From the hallway, Sam moves her into the apartment and then shuts the door, talking to someone on his comm as he does.

She piles her hair up and uses what Dean thinks might be a zip tie to hold it in place. “Sam told me some of what he wants. If you’re fucking with Dick Roman and H34V3N, I’m all in. But you need magic, too, and I have a partner. She’s going to want something in the form of payment, she could give a shit about AI rights.”

Dean blinks. “Well, okay, we’re not rich. Dad’s missing, not dead, so his half of H34V3N is still his... and our salaries are crap.”

“Nah, not money. She can get all of that she wants. She wants a look at the book.”

Dean falls into the carefully neutral expression and tone he’s been taught by his father to adopt when talking about this subject with non family, ever since he could even talk. “To what book are you referring? Sam has a few, but I think they’re mostly implant catalogues or stories about ponies.”

Sam flips him off automatically. The girl rolls her eyes. “Henry Winchester’s spellbook,  _ duh _ . The way he blends magic and tech is nothing short of artistry, and, well. My friend has been dying to see it forever.”

Dean stares at her. He still hasn’t moved away from Cas, and talking to her when he’s wrapped around the guy seems odd. But since Cas doesn’t seem inclined to move either, what the heck.

“Look, I don’t even know your name and you’re demanding to look at a book I’m not even admitting we own. I don’t know you, you could be  _ anyone _ . Someone from H34V3N sent to spy on us.”

She reaches out and pats his shoulder. “I’m Charlie and you’re Dean. There, now we know each other. And anyway, I live in an elevator. I don’t think the clowns that run that place have the imagination to leave a spy that lives the way I do.”

Cas makes a noise of agreement. “She is correct, although Naomi can be quite inventive when she is displeased.”

“Besides, like I said,  _ I  _ don’t wanna see it. My partner does. Her name’s Rowena, but she won’t be here in person. She’s in Scotland. We’ll set up a feed for her and she can tell Sam what to do.”

Sam sits on the coffee table, nods his head at Dean. Sam’s eyes are suspiciously starry when he says, “She’s amazing. Anyway, she doesn’t want to even touch it, she just wants pictures.”

Dean levels a glare at Sam that promises a loud and thorough argument about this later. “So, what are we going to do, anyway?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out as we go. Don’t look so worried, Dean, it’s only your head we’ll be playing with...”

Charlie pokes Cas in the shoulder. “C’mon, big guy, help me carry some heavy equipment.”

In the wake of their exit, the brothers exchange a look, the only sound around them the labored noises from the fridge. It’s almost dawn and even the club has given up, everyone gone to bed or collapsed on a floor somewhere.

“Dad knew something was off over there,” Dean mutters, massaging his temples. “Right after all that crap with Grandpa Henry’s will was settled, he got all weird.”

“Why do I think that this could have been handled better if he’d just talked to us instead of hiding whatever it is.”

“Not Dad’s way. He’s got to bottle everything up and solve it himself.” Dean shrugs and eyes Sam. “How well do you know this Charlie, anyhow? Does she know that she might get hurt?”

There’s a snort from the door. Charlie stands in it, blocking Castiel’s access. He has two large servers that look very heavy, but he stands there patiently. She’s carrying a big, black, metal case, and a few thick wires loop over her shoulder..

“Of course I do. But I keep my eye on things and I see how it is. They keep you guys busy so you can’t really look, but me, I have tons of time.”

Charlie moves out of the way and has Cas put the machines down and go back out for more. She starts fiddling with them, Sam looking on with interest.

“I know what you’re thinking.” She carefully starts plugging everything in. “These are huge. Antiques almost. The cases are, for sure. But you can’t beat these. Metal, strong. Durable. I’d go small, get myself a computer to fit in my palm, but then it would just get stolen.”

She taps her head. “Everything important is in my body. But these bad boys supply the power. And no junkie is going to go running down the street with one. Here, Fabio, take this cord, make yourself useful.”

Despite everything, Dean has to laugh at the self conscious way Sam runs his hands through his hair as he goes to comply. Cas trudges in, somehow with everything that had been left in that elevator balancing in his arms. He knows Cas is strong. Hell, he once virtually carried the two of them to a hospital when the Arachne fight last year went horribly awry. It’s still jarring to see it in action.

A hundred little things that remind Dean Castiel is not human happen every day, but they fade into the background. However, when he lifts twice his own weight in one hand, Dean would be lying if he didn’t say it skitters under his nerves.

Dean is exhausted. His head feels too big and he needs to lie down, but something about the dark bedroom waiting for him is unnerving. So, he just sits miserably watching them until Castiel brings him a blanket and makes him lie on the couch. All three of them move around him like a beehive, working together to set everything up. They call Charlie’s friend Rowena up in Scotland and put her live-feed on Sam’s tablet. Rowena’s brogue is soothing and Dean suspects she’d be hilarious to go out to drink with. He falls asleep watching the three of them argue about the best way to make a magic circle in the limited space.


	5. Chapter 5

_ He’s on the dock at the lake, but everything is just a little off. The sunlight is the wrong color, the water is too calm. Dean can see the edges of the dream pixelate, blinking on and off erratically. A woman fades into being next to him, fades out, and then comes back again. It reminds him of old radio static. _

_ “I know you,” he says, experimentally waving his hand. It goes right through her. “Naomi Shurley, acting CEO of H34V3N. At least until my father comes back. We’ve met a few times.” _

_ She smiles. Dean imagines it might be the kind of smile that a shark posing as a kindergarten teacher might try to wear. “Why, Dean Winchester. I’ve known you since you were a boy, coming into work with your Grandfather.” _

_ He squints and shrugs. “Maybe so. Are you really in my dream?” _

_ She looks around her. “I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I have to admit, I can’t. This dream holds no secrets. It’s a pity, really. I so wanted Mr. Tran to see his mother again.” _

_ Good for Kevin, he thinks, giving her nothing but bullshit. All the same, it pisses him off. The dream seems to respond, growing darker. A wind picks up and he has a gratifying moment where she looks nervous. “So, you kidnap my friend for what? What the hell are you looking for, Naomi?” _

_ She flickers in and out, and for a moment he thinks he’s going to wake up or she’s just going to leave, but the image stabilizes. The shark smile is back and she opens her hands in a placating gesture. “Well, I’ll make you a deal.” _

Dean wakes up with a start and a gasp, sitting bolt upright. Three heads turn and Rowena stops talking. They’ve been busy when he was gone - the floor is spray painted in silver and white, all the furniture pushed to the edges of the room including the couch, which he’s amazed he slept through.

“I know what Naomi wants. Or at least, what she says she wants.”

Cas goes to help him get up, but Dean waves him off. He actually feels tremendously better. He suspects that his issue with technology pushed her out of his head entirely.

“She just wants to look at Dad’s paperwork from Grandpa Henry. She says that there are some very important schematics in them that will help her to curb outbreaks of The Fallen. I told her we’d look and then I woke up.” He glances between the four eyes staring at him and continues, “She does have Kevin, though she denies having Dad. She’ll give him back if we give her the papers. I tried to tell her that Dad had it all, it went missing when he did. She didn’t believe me. There has to be an extra bit he hid somewhere.”

Charlie stares at him, then taps her head. “Somewhere in there lies the truth.”

“What truth? There’s just some dumb dream about a lake.”

Rowena rolls her eyes, and even on such a small screen, her disdain is palpable. “Is it always the same dream?”

Castiel nods. “The same, every time I have been in it, though with slight variations that I suspect depend on mood.”

“Actually, I never dream of anything else.”

“I think we have our starting point, guys.” Charlie settles in on the floor, facing him. “Describe it.”

“It’s, just… a lake. With a dock. There’s always a chair and some fishing stuff. It’s sunset and the light is kind of gold. Sam, what?”

Sam is staring, open mouthed. ‘“ _ That _ ’s the lake?! You said it was a lake, but not… not that lake.”

“ _ What _ lake _? _ We never went on vacation or anything at a lake. I don’t remember a lake.”

Sam looks disturbed, his eyes suspiciously shiny. “When-when we were kids you found this postcard. It was a tourism ad, really, for some tiny place in the mountains. But it was so pretty. You asked Dad if we could go and he was-”

“He was Dad about it.” Dean can’t wait to find his father so he can kick him for the look of loss on Sam’s face right now. Even if he doesn’t understand it.

“But you kept the thing and told me stories every night about our vacation there. Like we were remembering this great trip we took. You - you made it so real. It was like our own private place we could go to when things got scary. We made up stories about it, like we’d just left. Dad wasn’t in any of them, just us. It made him really angry, and the more we did it, the more he wanted us to stop. Eventually you did, to get him off our backs, but I kept the picture. It helped me sleep at night.”

“I... I’m sorry, I don’t remember that.” He wishes he did, desperately.

“I mean, we even used it in some of our code words, not even a year ago -” Sam stops mid sentence and looks up at Castiel. They share a look of dawning comprehension.

Dean gets it, but it just pisses him off. “Dad made me  _ forget that? _ Is that even possible?”

Rowena pipes up, “Yes, dear. Magic and technology infused into that lovely chip in your head. He gave you a place that you’d always remember as safe to talk to your handsome Angel, and wove a secret into it.”

Sam taps his finger against his lip. “Knowing Dad, it’s something that Naomi would never think of, or even really understand or have access to. He made Dean forget the place, which means that it has to be about the way it  _ looks. _ ”

Charlie and Rowena share a baffled glance, but Dean is already laughing. Dammit, Dad. When they look at him, he just shrugs. “It’s old tech hiding inside new tech. A simple and low tech way to encrypt some information is to… well, do you remember those ‘find thirteen differences in these pictures’ games as a kid?”

Sam rubs his forehead. “We just need an image of the place inside your head and superimpose it.”

Dean claps Sam on the shoulder. “He made it so we couldn’t solve this without each other. Go get your picture while these two ladies figure out how to get the image out of my head.”


	6. Chapter 6

An hour later, Dean watches while Charlie very carefully opens Castiel’s chest to expose the circuitry underneath. It glows like the highway beneath them in time lapse - streaks of light travelling back and forth through translucent wires. In the center, his beating heart is suspended in a clear block of glass, embossed with a symbol. She gently starts to do something with wires and plugs while Castiel silently sits, worry lurking in the lines of his face. 

Dean hates everything about it.

The plan, as far as he gathers, is to get the image from Cas’ memory instead of trying to pry it out of Dean’s own head. Something about ‘people listening’. Around them, Sam is gathering a small altar to Rowena’s specifications. A distracted part of him notices how much his brother seems to like her; his goofy flirting face is on and he’s a little clumsier than usual.

To Charlie, Dean asks, “Why can’t Castiel look at the one Sam has and do it from his own memory? He’s well equipped, I imagine.”

“Your father meant for all hands to be looking at it, I think, or it wouldn’t be hidden in such a ridiculous way. Anyway, it’ll be over before you know it. Just follow the script I wrote for you and we’ll both be fine. What I want to know is, what is that?” She points to the symbol etched onto the glass.

Dean squints. “Well, back when Grandpa was alive, the H34V3N logo looked a bit like that, but less… I don’t know,  _ Arcane _ . Honestly, it looks like a binding symbol. Sam, take a look at this.”

Sam comes around with Rowena in tow, crouching down to take a look. Castiel looks bemused as the two of them stare into his chest cavity. After a small whispered conference, Sam says, “It  _ is  _ a binding symbol, but not for any creature I know of. And look, there, it’s been scratched out… but crudely, with something sharp. If I saw it in the field, I’d say the creature was free to move about the cabin.”

Charlie wiggles a glowing cable. “Okay, so whatever it is isn’t going to interfere? Good. Not getting any younger, can we do this?”

Sam gestures for her to go ahead and backs up. Cas looks up at Dean nervously, reaching out. They link hands, staring at each other quietly. Shaking her head and smirking, Charlie plugs the cable in. Castiel goes inert, his eyes glowing a bright yellow, all his features lax. Neutral. Waiting.

Charlie looks at Sam, who begins chanting over the small bowl in concert with Rowena. She takes the other end of the glowing cable and winks at Dean before plugging herself in. The glow within it begins to run back and forth between them, and all the lights in the room start flickering.

“Being 317-20-95-12.777 ready.” Charlie and Castiel say at the same time. Charlie’s eyes are blank and glowing.

Dean clears his throat and looks down at the scrawled notes she gave him. “317-20-95-12.777 access memory.”

In creepy unison, they both turn to look at him. Okaaay. “Access memory One-zero-zero-one Winchester.”

They intone “Password protected. Please recite password.”

Dean blinks and looks at Sam who is still chanting. He shrugs, but can’t stop. The magic buildup in the circle is palpable, running over his skin. It keeps their activity shielded within, but just barely. The lights in the kitchen are going berserk. Dean closes his eyes.

Password. Castiel hadn’t set one, or he’d have warned them. So then, Dad set it. Dad knew that they’d be looking for him if they were accessing the memory, so he’d know he’d have been in trouble; dead or missing, so he’d need an escape…

“McQueen.”

“Access granted. Memory ready for download.” Dean places the small box Charlie had given him into his hand, and the glow between them pulses madly. The kitchen light bulb bursts with a bright burst, leaving the room lit only with the candles on Sam’s altar and the glow coming from the cord. Dean gives Sam a glare and he sheepishly looks to Rowena who gestures. Sam picks up some powder and sets it alight. The sudden surge in power makes Dean’s hair stand on end, but everything outside the circle settles.

With a quiet  _ ping _ noise, it suddenly stops, and they both sit placidly. Dean carefully removes the cord from Charlie to Cas as instructed. She comes to gradually, smiling as if drugged. Frustrated, he yanks it from Castiel’s chest and he startles into consciousness.

He says, “They’re coming.”

It provokes instant action, Dean grabbing his weapons, his father’s book, and anything else he doesn’t want them to have. Sam packs his magical bag with frightening patience while Charlie frantically tells Cas what to pick up. All the same, they’re forced to leave much of Charlie’s equipment behind, hastily evacuating the apartment and hauling themselves down the rusty fire escape into the filthy alley. Charlie makes them pause there so she can short out Castiel’s GPS locator. Looking at each other, Sam and Dean come to the same conclusion about the only safe space to go.


	7. Chapter 7

“I don’t get it.” Charlie has made herself at home in one of the great leather chairs in the room Dean has dubbed _The War Room_ , mostly because of the giant table with the light up map of the world etched onto it in colored glass. “If you had this amazing and spacious family bunker already, why in the hell are you living in that awful place?”

Sam makes a face, passing her a beer. “It’s not friendly to tech, as such. TechMagic, sure, but plain tech? Not so much. It’s like a building made out of Dean. Plus, it’s really out of the way.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I love it, but if Sam’s up there alone, he’d trip over his own hair and get hurt. Gotta stay nearby.”

Castiel gestures to the large map table, illuminated from below. “I have calibrated the images.”

Everyone gathers around and Sam holds the tablet with Rowena on it up so she can see. The images are definitely different, but Dean has no idea what he’s looking at. Castiel and Charlie do, however, and they’ve already begun communicating about it. Mostly without talking, which they’ve started doing the last hour, and is really making him uncomfortable.

In a minute, Charlie takes the dry-erase pen and writes a series of numbers and letters on the board. He blinks at it. Sam laughs and walks off. To the curious eyes around him, Dean answers, “It’s a filing code for the bunker and it’s in my Grandfather’s personal storage room. I think what we were looking for was here the whole time.”

Sam brings out a large binder filled with frayed and well worn papers. Schematics, research notes, page after page of inventions carefully inscribed in a neat copperplate hand. He spreads it all out on the war table and they get to work.

It takes two days before they fully understand the scope of it, and by that time Rowena has flown in to see it in person. She doesn’t even take time to rest, too excited to pour over everything, her long red hair falling in a curtain around her. She and Sam prepare a presentation for everyone else. Dean cooks burgers, serving it with the last of his Grandfather’s carefully hoarded favorite beer.

Sam brings up some slides, showing some standard beginner’s programs fused with magic. He starts talking excitedly a mile a minute, Dean ducking his head to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He’s really only had Kevin to geek out with in the last few years about this stuff. “Dick Roman’s company was on the forefront of technological advancement. It included Robots, and some work with Artificial Intelligence. His designs were so good that I almost suspect him of selling his soul for them.”

Charlie squints at the designs Sam has up on the projection. “Where does your Grandfather come into it?”

He flips through projections as he goes. “He had a rare gift. While everyone else was still making magic calculators or whatever, he was fearless. He summoned spirits and fused them with tech. When the monster uprising came, he and Roman formed a new company to help hunters. Together they-”

Sam stops, looking ill. He looks at Rowena who shakes her head, grim faced.

“For fuck’s sake, Sam.” Dean gets up and clicks the button for the next projection. Then he stares at it, and then looks at Castiel who already seems to have made the leap. Charlie looks frustrated.

“They summoned real angels.” Dean finds his voice and explains it to her, “Henry cracked them open, found out how they worked and  _ changed _ them, fusing them with tech.He rewrote them, turning their natures into code. Roman gave them bodies, and they fused everything together. They didn’t really get how it might change the fundamental nature of the angels though, and weren’t prepared for personalities. Or the eventuality that they could be freed.”

Charlie makes a strange sound, a half squeak. “Angels are real?”

Rowena laughs. Charlie scowls, making her laugh harder. “You believe in demons, child, but not angels?”

Sam continues, ignoring the interruption, as if he has to get it all out, like an infection, “At first, they simply expected them to obey. Angels are used to obeying, but he’d  _ changed _ them. They weren’t used to free will, and once they had their own minds, they wanted to go. Some tried to get home, some wanted to explore the world. So Henry erased all memory of heaven and who they had been, creating a binding to keep them in line.”

Charlie holds up her hand, barging forward with a question despite Sam’s glare. “I just don’t get why they wouldn’t know what to do with the angels. Wouldn’t the techs know how to keep them in line?”

Dean snorts. “Well, this is where the family secrets part comes in. Both Henry and Dad are secret-keeping assholes. We hoard them, like demented squirrels. Chances are that Grandpa only told them enough to repair the angels, and oversaw anything major on his own.

“Henry died, and Roman has dementia. When Naomi took over, she didn’t understand how it worked, and because the secret was so well kept, she never had a chance. When angels got hurt, she replaced parts and broke the binding by accident.”

Castiel, voice a low dangerous growl, says, “I think I understand. She kidnapped your father when  _ dismantling  _ my brothers and sisters did not work.”

Dean rubs his forehead. “It’s about money. They get paid millions so the army and the police don’t have to fight monsters. Dad must have wanted to release you all, and she held him to stop him, even when he wouldn’t tell her what she was doing wrong. Castiel, I… I’m so- I…”

Castiel stands, eyes narrowed. “Don’t apologize for the sins of your Grandfather, Dean. I am going to free my siblings from their enslavement, even if I have to kill her.”

Dean grabs his arm. “No, Cas, don’t, just. Just wait. The people you want to save will kill you before you even get near her. And they’ve figured out some way to make it work again, remember Balthazar?”

Charlie pipes up, “Troubleshooting 101. You return it to the way it was before you changed everything. When her techs did that, they fixed it without knowing why, likely. Look, we know what to do. The binding is in the plate around your heart. Instead of killing her… or okay, calm down, killing her  _ right now, _ we need to destroy the bindings, one by one.”

Rowena holds up John’s book. “Why do that, when we have magic? Haven’t you ever made a voodoo doll?”

Castiel squints. Sam’s already moving, excitedly explaining as he does. “Voodoo dolls are a form of sympathetic magic. You are connected to every one of your siblings, by the binding and by your nature, so we use you as a….” He waves his hand, like that explains it. Cas doesn’t look at all informed, so Dean sits him down.

“A template,” Dean says. “What we do to you, we do to everyone. Your binding is scratched through, but they can still work with it. I think Charlie and Sam can make this work. It’ll be magic, yeah, but magic  _ programming _ .”

Charlie pushes a bunch of things on the war table aside, and says, “Get up there, blue eyes.”

Dean reaches for his coat, checking to make sure his gun is secured in the holster. “It won’t work, not immediately or completely. The building has a shield around it, so you will get the angels outside. Sam and I will go take it down. Ladies, you got this?”

Sam looks a little petulant at being left out of the spellwork, but he goes to get his equipment and his shoes. Dean leans over Castiel as he lays down on the table, and looks down into his eyes before kissing him, long and sweet.

“Be safe,” Castiel murmurs against his lips. “Come back to me in one piece. We have unfinished business.”


	8. Chapter 8

Dean sits in the chair next to the cooler, looking at the lake. Sunlight glints off it into his eyes. It’s still hot, but moving into the cool of pre-evening. Someplace, a bird makes a noise. 

“You’re thinking about it again.” Castiel, behind him, drops a hand onto his shoulder.

He closes his eyes, unable to keep the images from flooding his mind. “Going in was hard, but coming out was almost worse…”

_ They stumble back into the bunker. Sam’s head wound is so bad that he can’t walk straight, and Dean is carrying Kevin who is limp and unresponsive. Dean’s splattered with blood - human, angel, his brother’s, his own. They didn’t get the shield down fast enough because Naomi had been expecting them.  _

Dean runs his hands through his hair. “It didn’t work.”  He tries to concentrate on the feel of the sun-warmed deck under his feet and the weight of Castiel’s hand on his shoulder.

“It didn’t work,” he says quietly. It hadn’t, not completely.

_ Sure enough, Rowena is slumped against the table, hurt from the shield’s feedback but desperately attempting to finish the spell. If she stops now, everything she’d tried to do will backlash. She’s hampered though, because Charlie is lying crumpled on the floor with her eyes blown wide open and unseeing, binary code scrolling up her irises, caught in the firewall before they kicked it down. Castiel is screaming, his chest open, ungrounded magic and electricity licking over the table, over he and Rowena. _

Castiel laughs. “Yes, it did. There are some angels who were hurt, and some who are still enthralled, but you crippled H34V3N and brought attention to the issue. I’m free, most of my brothers and sisters are free.”

_ Sam, despite the blood streaming into his eyes and the concussion, dives for Rowena and holds her up, doing Charlie’s half of the spell, grounding it, channelling it. _

Light glints off the lake. It looks inviting, but he closes his eyes and buries his face in his hands. The fear of losing his brother and his angel at the same time still makes his stomach clench, even though it’s over.

A blur goes by as Sam runs down the dock and jumps, cannonball style into the lake, drenching them both. Sputtering, Castiel breaks out into laughter.

“Plus,” he says, “you found the lake. This is what, the first vacation you’ve had in ages? Look how happy your brother is.”

Something loosens in Dean’s chest. HIs brother’s stitches came out a few days ago, but his hair is still a little patchy, and it looks even more ridiculous when he comes up from under the lake. He’s alive. Alive and well.

“Is he brooding again, Wings?” Charlie and Rowena follow Sam down to the lake more sedately, carrying folding chairs, towels, and a picnic basket. The witch is smirking at Dean with a fond but exasperated look.

Dean squawks, “Brooding?! I’m not brooding. Vampires brood. I am  _ thinking. _ My father is still missing, and Naomi fled...” 

They both snicker at him, setting up their chairs, pointedly ignoring what he has to say about  _ this _ subject.

Cas comes around to squat in front of him. The sight of him in the tiny orange swim trunks does a lot to chase away the gloom still lurking. He takes Dean’s face in his hands and kisses him soundly. “Dearheart, you were  _ brooding _ . You freed my family from enslavement. Your father will turn up, and we will find Naomi. But not now. Come into the lake with me, swim. Later, you will make everyone food on the grill you obsessively cleaned for an hour this morning, and then…”

He kisses him again. “Tonight, there is a meteor shower. You will lie on the grass with me under the stars, and neither of us will see it.”

Dean smiles as Castiel pulls him off the dock and into the cool, dark water.


End file.
